Just A Distraction
by SlenderGirl664410
Summary: Joan is sure that Sherlock Holmes is the craziest man she's ever met. What with the experiments and violin at 3 in the morning, who wouldn't? But she stays. Why? Because Joan Watson is also sure that someone needs to keep Sherlock standing. And Sherlock is convinced that Joan is there to distract him with sleep and eating and 'I'm sorry's. He doesn't mind. (SMUT AND FLUFF WARNING)
1. Uptown Fail

Sherlock had been on the way home from a particularly annoying case with Lestrade and Donovan, And while snide comments were the least of his worries, the case had disappointed him as far as complication. It was simple, though he'd told Joan that he'd be out until late. He didn't bother to text, deciding that anything Joan could be doing at home didn't need to be stopped because he returned. Instead, he texted away at Lestrade, sending scalding remarks about Sally and the fact that his time had been wasted.

The ride wasn't too long or boring, and for Sherlock it was mildly calming. The rain pattered against the roof of the cab, leaving the sidewalks and unlucky people walking along damp. He sighed and only pulled his gaze from the window when the cab stopped. He paid with little to no regard for the driver, then stalked up to the door and then up to the flat with hasty, quiet steps.

The music that played behind the door piqued his curiosity as he neared the door, making him pause before he pushed it open, striving to keep his steps as close to silent as possible. As he opened the door, the lyrics of what sounded like a pop song hit his ears;

_Girls hit your hallelujah...Girls hit your hallelujah…_

Sherlock toed off his shoes and looked around for any sign of Joan, knowing she wouldn't have just up and left this… _god awful_ music playing for Sherlock to return to. Instead, he crept towards the kitchen with interest, only to stop in his tracks and gape at what was Joan Watson.

'_Cause uptown funk 'gon give it to you_

_Saturday night and we in the spot_

_Don't believe me just watch!_

As the song hit it's clear chorus of a deeper tone of voice and a chorus of others, Joan's hips begun to move in time with the beat, her head nodding along with them as she danced- oblivious to Sherlock's presence. The Holmes boy stood still and silent, watching the scene with a faint grin playing on his lips, his earlier exasperation forgotten as he watched the woman roll her shoulders in a clear attempt at an older 90s type dance, though her hands were restricted with the dishes she held.

_Stop, wait a minute_

_Fill my cup, put some liquor in it_

_Take a sip, sign a check_

_Julio, get the stretch_

Sherlock couldn't hide his amusement as Joan started singing along. By that time, he had tuned out the horrid music and was instead focusing solely on his own pop star Joan Watson. She couldn't seem to stop dancing for anything as she continued washing the dishes, nearing the end of the mountain of dirty plates and cutlery.

_I'm too hot_

_Called a police and a fireman_

_I'm too hot_

_Make a dragon wanna retire man_

_I'm too hot_

_Bitch say my name you know who I am_

_I'm too hot _

_Am I bad 'bout that money_

_Break it down_

The chorus began building again, and on the last line of _Girls hit your hallelujah,_Joan's singing was abruptly cut off as she held the spoon under the water the wrong way and soaked the front of her jumper and the edge of the counter. She cursed, a rare occurrence unless genuinely upset, and shut off the tap quickly, holding the bottom of her jumper out to inspect it. With a sigh she turned to lower the music on her phone so she could clean up, and that's when she spotted Sherlock.

The blush that rose onto her cheeks was from both embarrassment and shock, though the shock eased steadily into annoyance.

"Sherlock! I didn't realize you'd gotten home, I uh...how long-?" She stammered, quickly shutting off the music.

"Long enough to see you call Lestrade and the firemen." He hummed evenly, the humour in his voice teasing.

Joan huffed a laugh as she hastily tucked the phone into her pocket,"Sorry. I just need to change real quick. I'll have to go to the shops tomorrow- Speedys sound alright?" She paused on her way out of the door, poking an accusing finger into his shoulder,"And _yes_, Sherlock, you're eating. The last thing you had was toast and tea two days ago."

Sherlock merely pursed his lips in place of a smile as he turned away to strip himself of the coat for the time being. Joan rolled her eyes and went up to her room to change. Sherlock took up his usual position on the couch, doing whatever it was he found relevant on his phone as he waited in silence.

It was 7.36 seconds before Joan returned quietly, but Sherlock saw the shake of her head as she passed and his eyes narrowed.

"What?" He asked sharply, his phone momentarily forgotten.

"I've gotten the song stuck in your head, have I?" She asked with a grin.

Sherlock started to demand what she was carrying on about when he became aware of the pad of his foot tapping the melody of the song into the wood. He scowled and turned his face back to his phone without a word, making Joan bite her lip to stifle a giggle.

She went back to the kitchen and resumed the dishes, humming a new song softly to herself. Sherlock had long before dropped his head onto the arm of the couch and shut his eyes, slipping into his mind palace to the soothing sounds of whatever song Joan had picked up. Even with work on his mind, he couldn't seem to pry himself away from the more...quiet moments with the Watson girl. Intimate was a word he saved strictly for more literal things.

"_Sherlock, did you get milk?" _Joan's voice slipped into his head as a memory.

"_No, it grew legs and walked itself here."_

Joan had chuckled fondly,"_I wouldn't be surprised."_

Sherlock had scoffed before falling silent again, trying to retreat to his mind palace to think about a case he had been working on when he'd felt Joan's hand pat his shoulder gently,"_Thanks, Sherlock."_

He had stayed silent and still, letting her walk out of the room before he had opened his eyes and stared up at nothing while he thought.

Sherlock had, after that moment, occasionally tried to help out around the house. Whether it was cleaning up a bit of the table for dinner or buying something or cleaning up after his experiments, he had been rewarded for each little chore with a pat on the shoulder or the ruffling of his hair and a 'Thank you'- all rolled with one of Joan's bright smiles. He did love her smile, no matter how much he tried to deny it. It wasn't something fake or cold or forced, but rather warm and...dare he say loving. He would never admit to anyone-especially Joan- that he would press up into her touch the slightest bit, and even miss it when she carried on with whatever she was doing.

He'd spent the next ten minutes after Joan had stopped humming replaying the quiet, tender sound in his head. All the while he ran through each compliment or remark she'd made towards him.

"_That was fantastic, Sherlock!"_

"_Brilliant. You're bloody brilliant, Sherlock."_

"_God, you're amazing, Sherlock. I don't know how you do it."_

The smile on Sherlock's lips was faint, but it showed. He was, to put it simply _happy_ for once. He knew what Joan had done to him since she'd moved in. Even without her shouting to get out when he'd mistakenly intruded on her bath, or taking her mobile without explanation, she'd made him a better man. Yet another thing he would never admit.

And then, her voice was real, speaking to him in soft, idle tones.

"What's going on in that brain of yours, Sherlock?" She said in a voice that resembled a fond murmur,"Making you smile like that. Must be nice."

Sherlock stayed still and silent. He made no attempt to keep the smile on his face.

It came naturally.


	2. Chinese

Sherlock stepped out of the cab and left Joan to pay like any other time before. He strode towards the door, making Joan pick up her pace to catch the door he'd opened and left to swing shut behind him, not bothering to hold it. She didn't mind much- it's not like it was unusual.

She reached up to tug at the bun she'd pulled her hair up into, tightening it while accidentally letting a few strands fall out to frame her face faintly. She sat down and shrugged the coat off her shoulders with ease, happy to be rid of the camp piece of cloth. She stared out the window into the ever-darkening sky, the rain coming down harder than when they'd gotten into the cab. She sighed softly, unaware of the studying eyes of her flatmate as he tried to memorize each soft detail his own life severely lacked.

They didn't speak other than ordering, and even then Joan had to prod Sherlock to get something. She won the argument and he got something small, proceeding to eat a smaller portion of it. Joan didn't comment, deciding that was fine.

"So, how was the case with Lestrade today?" Joan had long ago given up on referring to Lestrade with his first name. That only got her a confused look and an avoided topic.

"Boring." He declared,"Lestrade was staring at the blatantly obvious. He misled me with what he considered a five."

Joan smiled briefly, fondly,"Should I expect some sort of strop when we get home?"

Sherlocks eyes narrowed at her and he bit back a snide retort as the waitress came by to clean off the table and get them the check. Minutes later they were outside in the rain again. Joan waited by as Sherlock attempted to wave down a cab, and quick as ever, he did.

"You're a life saver, you know." Joan beamed, settling into the backseat next to Sherlock.

Sherlock stayed silent and looked at her from the side as she told the cabbie where to go.

"You say that rather often,"He finally hummed, turning his head towards her slightly.

"What? 'You're a lifesaver'?" She replied with a soft sigh behind the words.

"Not exactly." Sherlock corrected,"Referring to me with positive adjectives. 'Fantastic' and 'Brilliant' seem to be your favourites as of late."

"Are you complaining? You are brilliant, Sherlock. And fantastic- when there's nothing suspect in the kettle boiling, of course." She concluded.

"I simply live in a world of average IQs and happen to have one of the higher ones. Nothing special. There's probably someone else with the same level as I have whom you've never met yet you seem to assume I'm worthy of praise. Why?"

The innocents and...well, just the statement had Joan's heart tight in her chest. Why? God! There were so many reasons!

"Because even if I did meet another man or woman like you, you were the first. You decided I was interesting enough to invite me to live with you without a second thought- or maybe every deduction was weighing pros and cons privately, who knows. But to be frank, I probably wouldn't even be alive today to say any of this had you not come along. I had nothing before you." Her voice had grown softer as she spoke, but everything she'd said was just beating around the same bush she always had.

"You've saved me in more ways than one, Sherlock. I think I can put up with a few snide remarks about my own intelligence and a couple badly timed experiments if it means living with you and having that thrill."

Sherlock's gaze was void of emotion and his eyes ran over her for a moment without speaking.

Suddenly Joan felt like she'd made a mess of herself and cleared her throat, brushing a few strands of hair behind her ear.

"I don't...Sorry, I don't know where all that came from. I'm rambling, aren't I? Sorry." She stammered, turning her eyes to her shoes.

Sherlock made a low sound to acknowledge her statement but otherwise stayed silent. Joan swallowed under his gaze and the next few minutes were not comfortable for her.

When the cab arrived to 221B, she practically jumped out of the cab and paused to pull out her wallet to pay the cabbie when Sherlock's knuckles rapping on the top of the car paused her. By the time she realized he was paying, the man had already started pulling back onto the road.

Sherlock turned and walked into the flat without another word, leaving Joan to stand and worry about what she'd said, and flat out stress about what Sherlock had really heard her saying.


	3. Experiment

The night continued as it normally would. Joan toed off her shoes at the door, shed off her coat. She decided a warm shower was in order and sighed softly as she pulled the hair tie from the bun, shaking her hair free and running a hand through it as she headed to the bathroom. Once there she shut- and locked- the door before stripping and started the tap, letting out a content, relaxed breath as the warm water hit her shoulders, neck, and back. She took a few moments to relax before she started her usual process and lathered her hair with shampoo.

Ten minutes later, she stepped out and wrapped the towel around herself, wringing out her hair and running the towel over her body so she wouldn't drip over the wood when she went to her room. She picked up her clothes, folded neatly on the toilet lid, then unlocked the door and slipped into her room to change, in turn shutting the door behind her.

Ridding herself of the towel, Joan dropped her clothes onto the edge of the bed and went to her dresser, pulling out new underwear and bra, putting them both on with quiet ease. She'd just dropped down to find some comfy sweatpants and maybe a t-shirt when the door opened.

With a surprised yelp, Joan shot up and hurried to the bedside, snatching her towel off of it and yanking it over her front. When she looked to the door, she saw no other than Sherlock, standing in the doorway with his chin tilted up in a manner that clearly suggested he was above anyone.

"Oi! Sherlock! What the hell?" She barked angrily, waiting a beat before she nabbed a pillow off her bed and flinging it at Sherlock.

Unsatisfyingly, he ducked and looked back at it with a raised eyebrow, then turned his gaze back to her as he treaded forward.

"Out, Sherlock! Get-" Joan sputtered, pushing herself back against her nightstand with her feet.

"Johanna."

Joan stopped in her tracks, her mouth snapping shut as a shudder slipped down her back. His tone was one that demanded attention, quiet and calm, but deeper than normal. Just what was he playing at?

She was left with even more confusion and unanswered questions as he stepped even closer. He bent at the hips, putting his hand against the wall above her bedside table, looming over her in a way that one would corner a scolded puppy. Joan's eyes followed every movement and she felt she had a right to be blushing right then.

Sherlock's searching eyes made her squirm and she fought a whine of protest. Why the hell did he do this? He's got that bloody shirt on, too! The purple one that is too damn tight over his chest and upper arms for her liking. With that and the way he's standing over her, so superior and serious and...and...god, he'll drive her crazy with all of this.

And then, just as quickly as he started everything, he straightened himself, and glides out of the room as if nothing had happened. Joan let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding and her frame relaxed immediately. There she sat for the next minute or so, trying to recollect her thoughts, before she slowly rose to her feet and went back to getting a t-shirt and soft, loose flannel pants. She decided to go downstairs to make herself some tea and ask about the little scene before she went to her room to curl up with a book.

She made tea first before walking out to the main room and taking a seat in her chair, looking over Sherlock as he relaxed back in his chair, eyes turned to the ceiling as he thought.

"Sherlock? Did...Lestrade text you or something?" She began,"What was all that upstairs? And don't do that! You scared the crap out of me."

Sherlock was quiet for a moment,"No new case. An experiment."

Joan opened her mouth to reply, then shut it again and shook her head quietly. Of course.

Just an experiment.


	4. Nightmares and Violins

Joan knew she couldn't expect anything different in the months after Sherlock's fall. After that, all her barriers had shattered in front of him. There'd been screaming matches for days, moments she'd ripped a shirt or papers in order to avoid hitting him, and so many tears. Mrs Hudson had kept to herself in those days, giving them space. Sherlock was quiet unless he was shouting back at her, which only fueled her anger.

Once things had settled down, everything gradually went back to normal. But now, she had another scene for her nightmares. That fall left her in a more distressed state than the previous ones, leaving her pale, shaken...cold. She hated them, but she insisted that she'd be fine without any medication or therapy. Why should she have to depend on that, anyhow?

Tonight was one of her worse nights. The dream was a vivid scene with Sherlock and moriarty. Jim had, instead of shooting himself, fired at Joan and she relived the pain she'd felt when she was shot in the shoulder. Sherlock's face had drained of color before he lept off the edge as if he could have caught the bullet, and then Joan couldn't move. She could only watch and scream as he fell.

She shot up from the covers in a cold sweat, gripping the sheets. Joan soon recognized the soft, soothing tones of Sherlock downstairs. He was playing a piece from Mozart that she had heard many times before, and the familiar melody had her breathing hitching.

She cried that night.

She gripped her pillow to her chest and buried her face into it, sobbing quietly, her shoulders heavy with each shuddering breath. The last time she had cried like this was the actual fall. Now...now, she cried because he was here, and she knew it, but she couldn't look at him the same way anymore. Now all Joan thought of when she saw him was the horrid, gut wrenching depression. He need to see him dance about in a sheet, sulk on the couch, screech his violin at Mycroft. Every memory she'd ever had had torn her apart with the realization that she was hopelessly, madly in love with her crazy, high functioning sociopath.

Joan had calmed herself just enough to get up and shuffle downstairs, avoiding the second step because she knew it creaked. It was 2 in the morning.

The sight she came down to was familiar. Sherlock had his eyes shut, the violin tucked neatly into position as he dragged the bow across the strings in a beautiful melody. She leaned against the wall silently, watching him with tired, longing eyes. Sherlock paid her no mind and continued playing without care.

That's how he did everything, wasn't it? Without caring? That brought a bitter smile to Joan's lips. She envied that trait. If only she could just shut off her emotions like he did sometimes. Sherlock's song came to a close soon enough, and Joan dozed against the wall as she listened, still ever silent.

It was Sherlock's gentle touch to her cheek that stirred her, opening her eyes.

"Go back to bed, Joan." He said softly.

Sometime he had finished and Joan missed the end. She simply nodded and looked up at him.

" Don't leave again, Sherlock. Don't." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Sherlock shook his head,"Never again."

And Joan smiled.


	5. Irritability

(References to gay hate and child abuse. Don't read if content disturbs you)

Joan had come home that day after a series of rather out-putting appointments with her patients. With a mother and her daughter coming in from an abusive husband/ father, and three fatal diagnosis' of varying disease, her day had been stressful and just hellish. When she arrived home, Sherlock was moping about on the couch, furiously texting someone.

"You didn't read my message. Lestrade had a case for us." He bit out.

"Oh, so sorry. I was busy cleaning up a little girl with a busted lip." Joan hissed, hanging her coat up with sharp, annoyed movements.

She didn't spare a glance at what Sherlock's face looked like and instead swept into the kitchen to make tea, pulling up her hair into a messy and lazy bun. She bit back a growl of frustration as a few strands of her hair fell out immediately. After a few moments, she became aware of the eyes on her and turned to see Sherlock standing in the doorway, observing her quietly.

"What now, Sherlock?" She sighed, turning her attention back to the tea she was making.

"Hurry up. We have to meet with Lestrade soon." He said in reply after a moment of quiet, then his steps sounded as he retreated from the room.

Joan grit her teeth as she tried not to snap at him. Bloody cheek. She knew that he must have deduced what a hard day she had been having. But no, it's always '_Lestrade wants us there.' _or '_Hurry up- we have to go __**now**__.' _or, her favorite, '_Stop being so obtuse and use your brain, Johanna.'._ God, he was so obnoxious sometimes.

Regardless, she made tea and got only a sip before he was reluctantly dragging her from the flat and back into the cold London air. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying some not-so-nice things, and trudged along beside him to the crime scene, which he insisted was too close to get a cab for. Joan decided she really, really needed a cup of coffee. Preferably with Molly of Mrs Hudson.

The scene brought a more quiet and tense air about it. There lay a small boy in the middle of the yellow police tape, his neck slashed and the front of his shirt ripped open to display a very painful looking burn on his chest- the wound held some symbolism Joan didn't look at long enough to care what it was. His jeans had also been cut off. She watched in silence while Sherlock did what he would usually, as if the change in age of the victim meant nothing. This ticked Joan off even further.

Still, she stayed quiet and observed, reluctantly answering questions Sherlock fired at her. She was suddenly aware of Sally's hand on the small of her back, making her turn and look up at Donovan with a sheepish smile. Sally's tight smile was close enough to a grimace to let Joan know they were both uncomfortable.

Their little moment was broken with Sherlock's annoyed exhale.

"Lestrade, these cases are excruciatingly simple. It was very obviously a hate crime. The boy was gay and was attacked and molested while he was on his way somewhere- most likely who ever he was currently seeing." He sighed,"Call me when there's something worth my time."

And Joan had had enough. She had simply had. Enough.


	6. Disputes and Deductions

(References to gay-shaming and suggested depression. Read at your own risk.)

Every eye had gone to Sherlock when he announced his...'_deduction'. _Joan didn't care that everyone's attention was on them as he hands clenched at her sides, stomping her foot into the ground and effectively pulling Sherlock's gaze toward her right before the storm came rushing forward.

"_Sherlock Holmes!"_ Her voice shouted, gaining the full attention of Lestrade and the other policemen,"How bloody _dare _you! This had better be worth every goddamn bit of your time! Do you even realize what you're _saying?_"

Joan pointed at the boy as she continued,"He's _dead_, Sherlock! For what? For being himself! I _know_ you've got better sense than to act like its nothing! He's barely even fourteen and he's lying on the ground, cold and dead because some bloody bastard offed him for being gay. I'm so sick and tired of how you act like everything is just a simple deduction and a reaction! Well, here's my reaction, Sherlock! Are you fucking happy?"

She moved her hand to stab a finger into his chest, only a brief feeling of guilt crossing her mind when he flinched away the slightest bit.

"You know first hand what it's like to be ridiculed. You know what Harry went through and you know what everyone goes through at some point. How dare you act like it's so stupid it doesn't deserve your time." Her voice had lowered to a steely, angry and dangerous tone that most often brought Sherlock to attention within seconds. He knew when to shut up for her.

Joan then became aware of the eyes that trained on her and the faint shake of her head and bitter sting behind her eyes made a clear end to her statement. She turned on a heel and stalked off, brushing quickly past Sally and heading back home to unwind and hopefully- _hopefully_-, find the sense in herself to keep from striking the Holmes boy down.

She remembered hearing Sherlock's voice call after her once, then silence again. She shook her head again and continued on.

~SH~JW~SH~JW~SH~JW~SH~

It had been nearly three hours and Sherlock still hadn't come home. Joan had gone out and gotten groceries, busying herself and hoping to evade Sherlock as long as possible. She had been surprised, then relieved when she returned to find no sign of Sherlock. Now she sat in her chair and treated herself to a few of the cookies she'd bought. The sigh that left her lips when her phone buzzed was more out of weariness than annoyance.

_**Come to the pub on Adelina Avenue. Need help. Don't approach me and don't cause a scene.-SH**_

Joan got up, her package of biscuits falling to the floor as she snapped shut her laptop. With quick steps, she went to her room and dug through her underwear drawer until she found her gun.

_**What kind of help?-JW**_

_**Not a clue yet. Hurry up.-SH**_

That was all Joan needed and then she was out of the flat and hailing a cab, searching for pubs on Adelina. She waited anxiously, her previous anger melted into worry. She stayed calm and ten minutes later slid out of the cab with ease, paid, and walked inside. Her eyes searched for sherlock as discreetly as she could while she also looked for an empty table. Her gaze landed on Sherlock's tall form a little ways down the bar and she turned her eyes away again, waiting idly for whatever cue he would give her.

As she observed him, however, she watched the cold, stern demeanor he usually had change into a more loose, drunken and...shy one? Shy, yes, that was the word.

He was stirring the small straw in a fruity looking drink, biting his lower lip as he glanced around every now and then. He fidgeted in his chair and crossed and uncrossed his legs. It was only after a man walked up to him that Joan realized what he was doing.

He was setting himself up- baiting the suspect.

Joan could have laughed, but instead she ducked her head and pretended to be reading something on her phone while she kept an eye on them. The new arrival's smile was very obviously forced, and he seemed uncomfortable in the cheap clothes he wore. It wasn't ten minutes later that Sherlock was biting his lip and looking at the ground with a timid smile. The man prompted something quietly, and Sherlock eventually nodded and slid off the bar stool. He began following the guy towards the exit, where Joan had entered. She ducked her head and acted bored while they passed.

She didn't miss the snap of Sherlock's fingers near her ear as they passed, knowing that was the only cue she'd get. Joan waited until they'd left the pub before she stood up and followed them out silently, her hand on the gun in her pocket.

The pair in front of her were talking about something she couldn't hear until they fell as silent as the empty street. It was so sudden that Joan barely had the time to react when the guy shoved Sherlock into an alley way.

Sherlock's sudden gasp quickly snapped her out of it and she picked up the pace of her footsteps to round the corner, seeing Sherlock shoved up against the wall, the stranger's knee nudging his crotch in a way that Joan knew disgusted and pleasured Sherlock. The second bit wasn't his fault, just a normal reaction.

Joan shouted incoherently after the first of Sherlock's struggles, seeing him bite his lip to avoid making any humiliating sounds. Joan's gun was raised, pointed directly at the older man's head. He paled of all color and suddenly Sherlock was released while he stepped back, hands raised.

Joan barked at him to get on his knees and slid the weapon to her. She narrowed her eyes and put her foot on top of it while he trembled beneath the point of her gun. He speed dialed Lestrade, and Sally, Greg, and a few other officers arrived five minutes later. Joan could finally relax. She put away her gun and explained to Greg what happened, all the while feeling a sense of pride in her chest. Sherlock had gone through all of this to take the case and to please her. Sherlock appeared behind her moments later, his face steely and serious again.

Greg smiled at them both before he bid them a good night and went off to apprehend the suspect. Joan felt her own smile curl her lips as he nudged Sherlock's side gently, nodding her head back towards the street.

"Head home?" She hummed.

Sherlock merely nodded and turned to walk back towards the main road and get a cab for the two of them.

It was only when they'd rounded the corner on their trek to the road that Joan took Sherlock's arm to stop him. When he turned to question her, she leaned up to kiss his cheek softly.

"Thanks. Really, Sherlock." She said softly, her eyes unable to show anything but honesty as she slowly released him.

Sherlock was silent, his lips parted as though he wanted to say something. He moved then, his arm wrapping around her waist to press a hand to the small of her back and pull her closer, while his other hand tilted up her chin. Joan yipped in surprise, her face tinted pink. She couldn't speak as Sherlock's lips trapped her own in a surprisingly soft, warm kiss.

Joan kissed him back.


	7. Sentiment

The kiss was lovely, but ended abruptly when Sherlock's mobile vibrated in his pocket. Joan pulled back to allow him to answer it, only to have him protest and insist on ignoring it. She smiled and kissed him softly once more as she took his phone from his pocket and put it in his hands.

"I'll get us a cab." She promised, casting him another smile before she went a bit farther down the sidewalk to try and wave down a cab.

Sherlock's face sobered as he realized it was Mycroft who'd called him. He put a hand on his hip and held up the phone with the other, looking around for cameras.

"You know I hate calling, Mycroft." He said before any greeting could be attempted.

"Yes, I know. Special occasion. So, is this my happy announcement I've been waiting for?" He asked over the line, and Sherlock could hear the grin in his voice.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed at a certain camera that was pointed at him and sneered,"Who won the pot, then?"

"Lestrade did at the station. Anthea, of course, won over me." Mycroft reluctantly answered.

Sherlock grinned,"I see. So, when is my happy announcement from you and Greg?"

The line clicked and Sherlock put his phone away, feeling smug as he walked back to Joan, who had flagged down a cab. She smiled up at him and got in, sliding over to the opposite seat like normal. They rode in comfortable silence for a while before Joan spoke up.

"You're brilliant, Sherlock. An idiot sometimes- but brilliant." Joan said quietly.

"We don't speak of this to anyone." Sherlock said quickly, narrowing his eyes at her.

Joan nodded with a small smile. Who would she tell anyways?

"Was that Mycroft who called?"She asked, already knowing the answer.

"Who else? He'd obviously be the first to know." Sherlock pursed his lips.

"Know...what exactly? Are we...a couple?" Joan asked hesitantly, looking over at him quietly.

Sherlock swallowed before he spoke,"I suppose. If that's you'd like to call it."

Joan smiled again briefly and there was silence for the remainder of the ride. When they arrived home, Joan slipped out of the cab and Joan paid again, then they went to the flat. The one thing that was different was Sherlock's soft, cautious hand on the small of her back. Joan smiled in approval and kissed his cheek.

(I know it's short- Things will get a bit more mature in chapters soon to come!)


End file.
